


poetry in motion

by deltachye



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, No Dialogue, One Shot Collection, Other, Reader-Insert, Romance, Tags update as I go along
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23137276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye
Summary: [reader x various one shots]a study of lovers; the one who loves you, the way flowers cherish the sun, blooming sweetly in soft light.
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Reader, Kita Shinsuke/Reader, various (haikyuu)/reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 163





	1. [ tobio kageyama ]

**Author's Note:**

> this is a ko-fi commission ! enjoy some blueberry sweets 🤍

You know that Tobio’s an intense person—it translates to him being an intense lover, and you’d never have him any other way.

He’s slow on the draw; you have to admit. If it’s not about volleyball, it takes a little gear churning in that thick skull of his. Directions? Good luck getting him from point A to point B without a detour to point Z. Academia? No hope there. Emotional aptitude? Well, that’s a whole different story. He likes a challenge, but he hates what he can’t understand. For a good long while, this included you.

You don’t really blame him, even if he _was_ being a total idiot about it. Your forgiveness took a little while longer. He was unfairly mean to you, after all! You gladly volunteered your time and effort to tutor him at lunchtime, having been asked a favour by your classmate, but did he appreciate you? Only in that convoluted, Stupidyama way: calling you names, glaring you out so harshly you could’ve been accused of killing his pet, avoiding you and then blaming you for not being able to meet up with him on time… the list went on. You’d never grow tired of reminding him about this phase of your relationship. Though without the rocky road, you never would’ve fallen so deeply, hopelessly, _stupidly_ in love.

He’s temperamental, but you knew that going in. Other boys call their lovers “babe”. You hear “idiot” on the daily. Coming from him, it’s probably the best he can come up with, and at this point you’ve somehow taken a liking to it.

Tobio flusters easily, though, and you’re quite the tease. You can’t help it when he’s just too much fun to play around with. It doesn’t take much to get him riled up. An ‘accidental’ brush of the fingers has him jumping like you’ve given him an electric shock each time. Un-buttoning your shirt just a tad and giving him a moon-curved smile? He loses all comprehension of language. If you so much as mention that somebody else looks cute, he grows surly, pouting and scowling like a cat that hasn’t gotten enough attention. If you dial it up and call him a pet name, he reduces to a floundering mess of useless cotton ball spluttering. It’s like you can see the singular fuse in his head blow when you lean forwards and whisper ‘honey’ into his ear.

Dates with him are casual, and you settled into that easily with fond gratitude. With busy schedules on either end, you didn’t have the time or energy to doll up for dinner and a movie each time. You found simple solace in his arms, watching YouTube videos together on your phone or napping the exhaustion away. It’s never been more romantic than taking a walk through the quiet roads at a late hour, your hands kept warm in his pockets, the stars above glittering like beaded pearls on a velvet neckline. He’s a simple guy and it’s classic. Easy. A no-frills, no-nonsense kind of relationship that means so much more than a glossy trip out that neither of you really want. If he’s there, that’s enough. It’ll always be enough.

You do have to compromise to share him with the sport of volleyball. Sometimes it’s hard, knowing that some days he picks that over you, but it’s his livelihood. Who’re you if you can’t support him at the wire? He won’t admit it, but you know he likes it when you show up to his practices or games. He never asks you to come, but somehow, he always notices when you’re there, even if you don’t tell him. His teammates, especially the talkative ones, like to comment on how his performance improves in your presence. Though he apparently becomes insufferably cocky… that arrogance, even if it’s big-headed of him, draws you in a guilty-pleasure way. He’s royalty and you’re his queen. _I’m the best_ —okay, then prove it to me.

And he always does.

Though you can’t go on with this without admitting that he’s awkward, because surely, he’s got to be the most embarrassing boyfriend you’ve ever had the pleasure of having. He really does try his best, and it’s sweet of him… but he’s the type of guy to expect a _look_ to translate the same to a passionate declaration of love. His gifts, if you can be so generous as to call it that, consist of volleyball paraphernalia—because surely, if he loves this thing so much, you must get the same happiness from it also. (He’s learnt better by now, but you still have far too much volleyball merch for your own good. What do you do with six pairs of kneepads? _Six_?).

Domestically, he’s a mess. He doesn’t know how to do the laundry. He doesn’t know how to cook or clean. If volleyball didn’t exist, he really might have no useful purpose in life and die. But being with him requires patience, and lord knows you’ve saved a whole reserve of it, and you teach him. He’s easily frustrated by minor things, but he’s earnest, and when he puts his mind to something he’ll get it done. Whether it’s figuring out how to wash dishes or mince garlic, he gets this meticulous expression, one that makes his deep blue eyes shimmer endlessly with the depth of bottomless lagoons. You could skinny dip in those eyes, they’re so lovely.

It’s impossible to have a relationship without fighting, but honestly, it’s a relief to fight with him. It means the things that either of you have held back wash up to shore. He’s used to raising his voice, and he says things he doesn’t mean. But you’re not perfect either. It’s like grinding stones down on top of each other. It’s painful, and it’s rough, but with time they smooth each other out. You’re used to each other, and arguments always manage to bring the two of you closer. If they’re serious—the type of fights that stir up your gut, awakening fury—the two of you turn away to figure out how to fix yourselves. He’s incredibly conscientious about that. Tobio shoulders a lot, always trying to figure out how to be the best version of himself. It’s all for you.

Though it isn’t hostile or friction-filled all the time. For the most part, Tobio’s a calming presence, cool water seeping over tired toes after a scorching hot summer day. His body is strong from years of athletics, lengthened with good genetics and conditioning. You love settling into his arms, feeling yourself sink against him. His fingertips feel so good on your skin, his touch feather-light and ticklish and _shy_. He radiates warmth that never becomes overbearing. It’s always just right. And his hair—damn, you’re so thankful he doesn’t push you away when you run your fingers through his hair. It’s fine and dark, unfairly soft for a guy who doesn’t ever bother with his looks. You know he likes it when you massage his scalp with his head in your lap, his eyes closed in a state of heavenly ecstasy. You had to teach him how to map your body, but even though he’s a crap student, your pleasure is a subject he doesn’t take lightly. And he puts his mind to it like all other things.

It’s almost impossible to coax “I love you” out of his mouth. Did you expect anything different from a guy who has an aneurysm every time he gives a compliment? He just shows it in different ways. Pushing you out of the way so that you don’t bump into things. Forcing you to sit on trains while he stands over top of you protectively. Walking you home late at night even when he lives in the other direction. But sometimes on the rare occasion, he’ll muster the courage; and he whispers it mutedly, face always bright and eyes always turned anywhere-else-but-you. You adore his blush. It rises up his cheekbones, blossoming up his forehead and trickling down his neck. A tattoo of cherry blossoms, signalling the coming of spring sunshine. He doesn’t make it easy to stop falling further for him. Hell, he doesn’t make anything easy.

It’s always a surprise when Tobio comes down under the weather. He’s the poster boy for health, but even _he_ is human. He hates giving up his independence, but you’re quiet in the way you drape cool moistened cloths over his forehead, and he welcomes you by leaning his hot face into your palms. He’ll lie to you at first, citing the effort to not make you worry. But he’s a terrible, horrible, godawful liar and you see right through him every time. You know he’ll never admit it, but he likes being taken care of when he’s sick. He’ll fight with you every step of the way, denying your help, but he won’t stop you from swaddling him in blankets or making him hot lemon tea or sitting by his side. He’s a living, breathing contradiction. It’d probably kill him to make up his mind.

Although you’re the one who guides him, you know why they call him a genius. He learns and picks things up and re-delivers double. Monkey see, monkey do—you kiss him once, he kisses you thrice. It’d been a painful process, teaching him how to kiss, but somewhere along the way he learnt all the tricks in the book and it kicks you off your feet every time. His touch leaves you breathless. His desire is as strong-willed as his need to win; to _conquer_. After all, he is your King. And you know that little bastard knows this—you _know_ he smirks at you on purpose, eyes sharp and deep and murky with a craving you’re afraid to face, lips curled, teeth sharp.

So yeah, he’s a lot of work. For a low maintenance guy, he’s so unbearably uptight. But you know, hard work isn’t all that bad. It’s worth it in the end, because you’re the person Kageyama Tobio loves, and he loves _deep_.


	2. [ shinsuke kita ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ily ily ily ily ily ily ily il

Shinsuke absorbs himself into everything he does with his quiet, simple diligence. He loves from the shadows. It’s what he’s always done. It’s what he will always do.

In all honesty it’s hard to get used to him. In a way he’s kind of creepy, always seeming to know what you’re thinking with that deadpan expression of his. His head runs like he’s some sort of machine. He’ll carry your bag without you even asking. He’ll hand over a sheet of paper in class right before you’ve even used up the last of your margins. It’s abrasive, though, the way he’ll point out your flaws like it’s so matter-of-fact— _you didn’t sleep well because you were up doing something stupid again, weren’t you?_ Yes, but you don’t have to say it like that. He doesn’t hold anything back.

But he’s just the honest type, and that’s rare to find in somebody. He wouldn’t bother with you if he didn’t like you. 

So in the end, you just accepted it. He’s worth it.

If it’s academia he’ll disappear for studies, never caving into invites or pleas. If it’s athletics he’ll go to each and every practice and game. Early, of course. He doesn’t push things off. Everything is metred and scheduled. If he had a plan, he’ll stick to it, no matter what. _Spontaneity_ just doesn’t exist in his dictionary. In the earlier days when you were still trying to get to know him, you’d felt neglected… your stupid boyfriend refused to answer your texts with anything less than a superficial line. He refused to see you. It always took a business day or two to get anything out of him. Did it mean he wasn’t interested? 

Oh, right. That had been your first bouquet of flowers from him. 

You remembered it clearly: you, stomping around the train platform, bitter and grumpy because you were still just a kid… him standing there, having already been waiting for you for who knows how long, cradling your favourite flowers to his chest. He’d been smiling then, lighting up when he saw you. The exchange seemed so normal to him, like _of course I’ve gotten you flowers_. You’d bawled in public. He’d wiped your tears away with the utmost care.

God, you love how much he cares.

It’s all in the details. Shinsuke doesn’t make it easy for you, but it’s not like he tries to be anything but genuine. It takes some reading between the lines, but all in all, he’s a surprisingly adept novelist. If you don’t pay attention you’ll miss it entirely, but you’ve always felt such an impactful draw to watch his every move. He isn’t flashy. That just makes everything all the more intriguing, the way a quiet tea ceremony can be. You’ll wake up, raising your head, realizing that somewhere along the way he’d leant you his shoulder to sleep on. The back of his jacket stays so warm whenever he wraps it around you on the days you’d left your heavier coats at home. He always walks on the side closest to the road, protecting you from cars and splatter. He opens doors for you. He eats after you and doesn’t hesitate to share. Small things appear in your locker, on your desk, in your pocket—little trinkets here and there, things he’ll never take back, no matter how much you insist that he doesn’t have to buy you gifts. He carries an essence with him like incense, always there but never present. It’s a memory. Perfume on the back of the ear. Cherishing. Unconditional. You feel him in your heart. 

Though it’s not like he’s forever passive.

The sparkling silver on your neck, marking you as his. He’ll kiss your fingers if somebody looks too closely for his liking. He doesn’t hesitate when wrapping his own hands around your waist to draw you close. He’s not a person without desire, as selfless as he is. It makes it all the more electrifying when he reveals himself. It’s like unmasking a fox spirit. Every time you think you know him, he’s got new tricks to play.

As you got closer with him, learning more and more, the fascination grew. You’d always been somewhat interested in him, having been the one to ask him out first after all. Kita-san was the attractive boy behind you in homeroom, and you were just the girl looking for something to ease the boredom of monotonous high school. Your cards had always been out there, superficial and lined up in a row. But his were tucked away, deftly hidden by strong, roughened fingers. Maybe he _was_ kind of a boring guy, having an early bedtime and a distaste of sweets and popular shounen and people his own age. But he still steps on dark coloured tiles, avoiding light ones, the game everybody plays when holding hands with their mom on brisk strolls. He still squeezes your hand, making sure you’re there. His eyes still widen and gleam with awe when he looks out across the never-ending ocean. And he sleeps with his mouth wide open. 

Maybe you should be more surprised he agreed to be with you in the first place. You almost feel like you don’t deserve him some days.

When he listens, he almost looks like he isn’t paying attention, disengaged and glassy. For a while you had to keep checking if he was spacing out. But he concentrates in a very powerful way, the same expression he wears when he’s taking a difficult test. He devotes nothing less than his all to you, even if you’re just ranting about a plot hole in the latest chapter you read. He would never present himself to you with anything less. When he touches you, it’s the same manner.

He’s careful, always gentle. You can feel his habits, though, so engrained into who he is. His fingertips are strong from the training, pressing deeply into your skin, more so than the pressure of his palms. His nails are always short and filed, but you can feel the flats of them, cool and smooth. He is never distant, never thinking about anything else besides where he’s touching you and how. His hand in yours feels like you’re being led by a prince. Knuckles in tight muscles work with the sole purpose of your pleasure. He likes to draw Vs on the webbing of your thumb. If you close your eyes they feel like hearts.

He’s a romantic, even if he talks in roundabout rhymes sometimes. Really, he could stand to just say ‘love you’ like a normal person. But he walks you home and says things like _it looks like there’s two suns… lucky me for being able to walk next to the warmth of one._ He just says something like that at a crosswalk and doesn’t think you’ll self-destruct? Maybe he’s a sadist and just hasn’t come to terms with it. No—you know damn well he likes to tease you, even if he wouldn’t admit it. 

In any case, if you’re his sun, you want to be his sky. You want to be his everything. You want to hold him, support him, and love him the way that he loves you. A cerulean blue vertical sea to hold all the feelings you have for him. He can float in them, nestled between all the heart shaped clouds you’ve conjured for him. 

That’d be nice.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: https://deltachye.tumblr.com/


End file.
